Road Rash
by pictureperfexi0n
Summary: Riley Stark, cousin to infamous Tony Stark, is in a car wreck with her mother in Gotham. Six days later, she is kidnapped. What a week, huh?
1. Chapter 1

**So here I am. At writing fanfics again. But I finally finished one, so be gentle with my baby, huh? It's a Batman/Iron Man crossover.**

**Love it? Hate it? Review!**

**Disclaimer: Like I own anything but Riley. Hah! I wish.**

The actual crash was a blur. I remembered arguing with my mother and reaching over to switch the radio station. The flash of headlights cut across my eyes, the honk of the horn slammed into my ears, and then time nearly stopped. The pain didn't come until long after.

I was sitting in a hospital bed when they told me. I cried, screamed, and thrashed so much so that they had to dope me up with double the morphine to calm me down and keep me from hurting myself. The morphine didn't help with the guilt that crushed my chest.

It was all my fault. As I reached forward to change the radio station, I had mentioned that she was suffocating me and holding me back. She had looked at me with shock and missed the red light. Our Toyota ended up in a twisted pile of metal next to a giant Dodge.

I hadn't moved in an hour and I glared at the left corner of my bed frame. My eyes were dry and blinking wasn't even going to fix that. But maybe if I did blink, this would all be a dream.

Blink.

Nope. Still real.

Damn it.

_Wastin' away again in Margaritaville…_

I glanced to the nightstand to my right where my phone sat. The face was lit up with a phone call and the body of the phone vibrated to the song. I glared at it. I didn't want to answer it. I didn't want to hear anyone offering condolences.

_Wastin' away again in Margaritaville…_

I cursed the invention of cell phones and I reached over to slap the phone quiet.

_Wastin' away again in Margaritaville…_

"GOD DAMN IT!" I screamed, snatching the phone and effectively chucking the piece of plastic and circuitry across the room.

It was silent for a minute.

_Wastin' away again in Margaritaville…_

I'd never wished for laser vision so hard until now. An orderly came bustling in the room at the sound of the phone crashing into the wall and picked it up. She brought it back to me.

_Wastin' away again in Margaritaville…_

"I don't want it," I snarled out.

"You should answer it," said the orderly. She set the phone on my lap as it rang yet again. I glanced down at the caller ID; mildly curious.

Tony Stark.

What?

"Riley! Jesus Christ! Are you all right?!"

I had to jerk the phone away from my ear; partly because he was so loud and partly because I just had to double check it was really Tony calling me. Our relationship was rocky at best, even for family. He was certainly the last person I expected to ever call me, no matter the situation, unless it was to annoy me like the five-year-old I was convinced that he was.

"Tony?" I asked softly.

"Yes, Riles, it's me." Tony's voice lowered substantially. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and then promptly realized that he couldn't see me and almost threw another small tantrum.

"I'm all right," I breathed.

Tony sighed with relief. I could almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring down at the ground.

"You're mom," he said quietly. "Is she okay?"

I froze. My blood ran cold and I was surprised the heart monitor attached to me wasn't going wild. I was pretty sure my heart had stopped.

"Riley?"

I opened my mouth to speak – to tell him the horrible truth – but nothing came out. Not even air. I tried again.

Nothing.

"Riley, what happened?"

"It's my fault," I whispered quietly.

"What?" asked Tony.

"It's all my fault," I repeated, slightly louder. Hot tears were suddenly filling my eyes. I fought against them.

"That's ridiculous," Tony scoffed.

I gave a hollow laugh.

"I made her take her eyes off the road," I sputtered out.

"It's not your fault," Tony tried to convince me.

"I upset her," I plugged on.

Tony tried valiantly again. "It's not your fault."

His words fell on deaf ears.

"She looked at me. I made her miss the red light."

One more time, "It's not your fault, Riles."

"I made her miss the light," I repeated. "I'm the reason she's dead."

"Don't say that," Tony commanded firmly in my ear. I could hear a distinct whooshing sound behind him. "You don't know what would have happened if she hadn't looked awa—"

"She would have seen the light," I interrupted dully. "She would have been able to stop."

"It was raining."

"So?"

I heard Tony sigh heavily on his end, emphasizing the whooshing. Did he hear the whooshing too? Or did I hit my head really hard?

"Where are you?" he asked

I glanced at the hospital around me. Nothing but the white wall color was familiar to me, thanks to various hospital stays in the past.

"Sacred Heart Hospital."

It had to be. I had been to every other hospital in town.

"All right," said Tony. "Hang tight, kiddo. I'll be right there."

Click.

He hung up on me. How dare he? Jerk.

I had my good arm cocked back to hurl my phone into the wall again before I realized just what Tony had said before he hung up.

He was coming here?

For me?

And why was my right arm in a sling? Oh yeah. I went through the windshield because my seatbelt snapped off. I almost slapped myself for forgetting. I lightly tossed my phone back on the nightstand beside my bed wondering just how hard I _did_ hit my head. It would sure explain the sudden pounding noise I was hearing.

Oh wait…that was someone knocking on the door.


	2. Chapter 2

A stern looking woman entered the room in a crisp black skirt suit. Her graying hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the base of her head and her hard blue eyes stared at me over wire-rimmed spectacles.

I almost expected her to haul off and slap me for the exact same reason I wanted to slap myself for.

"Hello Elliot," she said in a surprisingly warm voice. "I am your father's lawyer, Margret Collins. I am here to discuss with you your next course of action in this unfortunate tragedy. Let me start off by saying how sorry I am—"

"For my loss," I finished for her. "I'm sure that's not the last time I'll be hearing that. And just for clarification, I'm Riley."

Margret Collins looked slightly taken aback by my brashness and glanced down at the manila folder in her hands.

"My files have your name as Elliot Riley Stark."

Had I not been so devoid of any emotion but anger, I would have burst out laughing at the dumbfounded expression she wore on her, otherwise, wrinkly old face.

But I was too angry and all I wanted to do was beat her over the head with the chair she just primly perched upon.

"Just call me Riley."

I offered nothing in the way of explanation and she did not press any further on the subject. She merely went down her list of things to discuss with me.

Me. A girl who just lost her mother only hours ago. And now I'm supposed to be handling legal things? I wasn't even old enough to vote!

I wanted to gauge my eyes now. No, too humane. Slowly prick each hair from my body one by one? Too slow. Rip off all of my toenails! I shouldn't be here.

Oh crap. Margret was talking again.

"—Find you somewhere to stay until your turn eighteen," she was saying.

I hadn't even thought of that.

"My house?" I suggested. It seemed most logical.

Margret clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry, Riley," she said. "That is not an option. You are not of age yet and therefore leaving you on your own would illegal. Not to mention difficult for you."

It just sucks to be me, doesn't it?

"Now, is there anyone in Gotham that you could possibly stay with?" Margret went on. "I'm sure you'd like to stay close to your father."

Did I mention my dad's in the nut house? Arkham Asylum, to be specific, which makes him a criminal nut case. Like I said, my life sure does suck.

"All I know is here," I said quietly. I'd lived in Gotham I dropped my gaze to the happy flower print of my sheet, seething as I glared at the bright colors.

Why me? Why did this have to happen to me?

"Any aunts or uncles?" Margret made another attempt, leaning forward to seem more warm and inviting. "Cousins? Family friends?"

"My parents were never married," I muttered, scrunching a fist around a handful of those stupid happy flowers, "so my dad's family pretty much disowned me." I snapped my head up, shocking Margret with the anger and sadness twisted into my features. "No hope for me there."

Margret opened her mouth to speak, but I didn't hear what she had to say. Another set of knuckles had rapped on the door. Without waiting for an invitation, the door swung open and in walked my billionaire, Maxim's number one hottest man of 2008, dear cousin Anthony Stark. His customary smirk was not present and he looked sullen. A red-head in a simple blue suit followed him in.

"Tony?" I asked as if it had been yesterday and I hadn't spoken to the man in three years, not twenty minutes ago.

He gave only a half hearted smile as he glanced at me. His expression was relieved and he almost looked happy to see me.

Almost.

Margret bustled to her feet as best as she could in her dangerously thin heels and held out a professional hand to my cousin.

"Mr. Stark," she said, obviously flustered, "It's a pleasure to meet you!"

I wanted to gauge her eyes out this time. What an insensitive woman! Here I was, wallowing in my own misery of losing my mother, and Margret has to get all cozy with my cousin.

Why the hell was he here anyway?

"Under normal circumstances," said Tony stiffly, as if he was uncomfortable with the fact that a much older woman was just about throwing herself at him, "I would say the same."

He shook her hand once and quickly dropped it, taking another concerned step towards my bed. His dark eyes searched me for any sign of considerable and permanent damage.

"What are we discussing?" he asked nonchalantly. He took another step and was suddenly right beside my bed, looking over at Margret. His stupid smirk was back.

Margret's mouth flopped open and closed once or twice in surprise before stuttering out,

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. It's all confidential currently. I cannot share any of Riley's legal information with anyone but family yet."

"Check the last name," I snapped. "Family resemblance enough for you?"

We looked like we could be brother and sister, for crying out loud! We had the same dark, glossy hair, chocolate eyes, and angular facial structure. His eyebrows were just a bit bushier than mine were, but I figured that could be looked past.

"Now don't be rude," Tony chided.

"Shut up," I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him.

That was our problem. Tony and I never got along. Ever.

Tony grinned down at me mockingly, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes.

"Well," said Margret, perching back on her chair. She shuffled through the papers inside her manila folder to pull out something that looked suspiciously like a last will and testament, "It seems as though your mother had a plan for you if something were to happen. Option number one is out, given your father's situation—"

Tony muttered something that sounded very much like "Off in crazy land," but I couldn't be too sure. Margret gave him a sideways look.

"The second option listed," she went on, "is that you be sent to live with Howard and Maria Stark."

Tony and I shot an involuntary glance at each other, both with pained expressions on our faces.

"Another impossible option," I said as lightly as I could. This was hard enough. Why did my dad and my dear Aunt Maria's death have to be brought up as well? "They died fifteen years ago."

"Ah," said Margret softly, glancing back over the will to find another option. It was unnerving how little the death of my favorite aunt stirred her.

"I'll take her."

Every head shot to Tony in shock and the red-head who had followed him in to the room spoke for the first time.

"Don't be ridiculous, Tony," she chided.

Oh how I agree.

"Did you forget how well we get along?" I asked pointedly. "As in, not well at all? That's a terrible idea, Tony."

"It'll be fine," said Tony, waving everyone off.

Margret just sat back and watched the conversation like a tennis match.

"You don't know anything about raising a child," protested the red-head.

"She's not a child," Tony responded. "She's almost eighteen. All I have to do is remember to feed her and walk her—"

"I'm not a puppy, Tony," I interjected.

"Of course you're not," he answered, patting me on the head. He turned to Margret. "When do I get to take her home?"

"Mr. Stark," she said kindly, "this is quite a big decision. Wouldn't you like to have a day or two to think it over first?"

Tony shrugged in his egotistically casual manner and looked to the red-head. Her face said she agreed whole-heartedly with Margret.

"What do you think, Pepper?" he asked.

"It's a bad idea," I said for her. "Tony, you live all of the way in California. I don't want to move out there! Everything I know is here. I've never lived anywhere else but here—"

Tony cut me off, leaning towards me and hissing, almost angrily, "It's me or an orphanage, babe."

I frowned, completely put off that he was right.

"I'm almost eighteen," I growled, not willing to give in. "I can survive."

"Eight months," Tony reminded me.

I glanced sharply up at him in surprise.

"You know when my birthday is?" I asked. He'd never remembered in the past.

He shrugged and leaned back away from me.

"More or less," he said. "I know the month."

As weird as it was, it was a nice feeling to know that Tony at least knew which month my birthday was in.

Damn it. His charm was working.

"I'm in the middle of my senior year," I tried again, with little hope. "I don't want to have to start in a new school—"

"I'll get you a tutor," said Tony simply.

"What about graduation?" I asked.

He smirked at me a little bit.

"We'll figure something out. I can fly you back to walk with your class if you want."

I was a bit stunned, much to my chagrin. Would he really fly me back out just for a night? I was sure he did it all of the time for himself, but for me?

I attempted to cross my arms to look defiant as I gave my answer, but the sling prevented me. I put my good arm over my stomach and frowned just the same.

"Fine," I growled.

"You don't have to make this decision right now, Riley," said Margret. I had almost forgotten she was in the room. "You can think it over for a day or two."

I sighed heavily.

"He's right," I muttered grumpily. "I couldn't survive in an orphanage for eight months. At least I know Tony. I can deal with him."

Tony grinned proudly, puffing out his chest just a little. I wanted to roll my eyes at him. Margret and Pepper both sighed with the same agitation present. Pepper rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"The doctors should be releasing her tomorrow," said Margret. "They want to be sure there is no internal damage. Physically anyway. There will be a second doctor coming in the morning to talk to you, Riley."

I froze.

"As in a shrink?" I demanded. I saw Tony wince out of the corner of my eye. "No way. I'm not talking to a shrink."

"You've had a terrible tragedy happen," Margret protested. "You need to talk to someone."

"You, of all people, should know I hate shrinks," I snapped. My heart monitor started beeping faster.

"I requested that the doctor be female," said Margret as if she was placating me. "That should alleviate similarities—"

"She's a shrink. Similar enough. I won't talk to her. I don't want her near me."

Margret glanced at the rapidly climbing heart rate warily.

"Elliot," she said sternly, as if calling me by my first name held any weight for me, "She's coming in whether you'll see her or not."

I huffed in anger and stared down the corner of my bed again, fighting away tears. I cursed whatever higher deity was attending to my situation. First you take away my mother, make me live with my least liked cousin, and then you decide to stick me in a room with a shrink who would make me think of my father.

What did I ever do to you?

The beeping heart machine brought in a nurse, the same little orderly that handed me my phone just an hour ago. She shooed everyone out of the room, complaining that they were exciting me too much.

Tony glanced back at me, his face suddenly sullen and worried again.

"See you tomorrow, then," he said and he was gone.

I will never understand that man.

I stared at the back of the door for a while after they left as the nurse checked my bandages and surrounding machines. She changed the patch on the right side of my forehead, checked the stitches on the right side of my neck, and fixed the sling and wrap on my arm.

Alone forty-five minutes later, I resumed my glaring contest with the edge of my bed and those stupid, happy flowers. Tears burned my eyes as my phone jingled, signaling a text message.

I can be there tomorrow for the shrink if you need me. – Tony

A couple of grateful tears snuck out at that. He would probably sit in the corner making stupid remarks the whole time, but at least he'd be there. It was almost comical to think about. The shrink wouldn't know what hit her.

Then I frowned.

He probably only wanted to be there because the shrink was supposed to be a woman and he was curious. So much for him actually caring.

I should be ok. Thanks, I answered.

I didn't need to listen to him making sexist comments throughout the session. It would just make the whole problem worse.

**Riley doesn't like psychiatrists. Any idea why?? evil grin**


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Brenda L. Meyers and I sat in an intense staring contest the next morning for a good twenty minutes (blinking appropriate, of course). I refused to speak, glaring at her and wishing once more for Superman's laser vision. Dr. Meyers stared right back at me with an unnerving calmness to her that made me feel as if she was just reading my thoughts instead of waiting for me to talk.

"You're father's a psychiatrist," she said simply, trying once more to get me to open up.

My glare only intensified.

"How did that shape your childhood?"

I glared so hard at her that my eyes started watering from the effort. Dr. Meyers mistook that for an answer to her question and jotted something down on the clipboard perched on her knee. Curious as I was, I ignored it. I removed my eyes from her face for the first time, instead preferring to attempting to melt the metal of the chair in the corner with my imaginary heat vision.

Part of me actually wished for Tony's presence. Inappropriately sexist remarks were better than this stupid silent staring contest.

Dr. Meyers sighed quietly at my side, very obviously frustrated with my less than perfect response to her presence.

"Elliot," she said exasperatedly, "we only have an hour today. We've already wasted twenty minutes. You need to talk to me."

My head spun back around to her so fast it almost hurt.

"I _need_ to talk to you?" I demanded, opening my mouth for the first time. "I don't _need_ to do anything, thank you very much. I _want_, however, to toss you through that window over there."

"Hostile," Dr. Meyers muttered, scribbling in her notes again.

"Of course I'm hostile, you stupid bitch!" I shouted, ignoring the escalating heart rate monitor. "My mother just died! What do you want me to do? Sit here all pleasantly answering every question you ask?"

Dr. Meyers was a relatively young psychiatrist with very doll-like features and golden hair. Surprise looked foreign on her face.

"I'm sorry I'm not fulfilling every little dream you had of being the perfect shrink," I went on, "but I'm not about to spill my freaking soul to some stranger just because you had a PhD or MD or whatever it is you get from graduating crazy people school. And I sure as hell don't need someone telling me that there's something wrong with me. News flash: I already know. I don't need medication for something that's all in my head. I'll get over eventually, but I don't need to talk to anyone about it."

"Talking helps," Dr. Meyers interjected, struggling to keep herself in check. I could see her own anger brewing just below the surface. "Medication is not always needed. I'm not here to tell you that something is wrong with you. I'm here to help you refocus and enhance your mental health—"

"Text books don't help you in the real world, doll face," I sneered. "They don't teach you how to deal with the unruly patients. People aren't as trusting these days to just tell their whole life's story to a stranger. And they sure aren't dumb enough to pay such exorbitant amounts of money just to meet someone new to talk to. It's ridiculous."

"That is exactly the reason why we have psychos like the Joker and Two-Face on our streets these days, killing innocent people," Dr. Meyers countered. "They aren't talking their emotions out and it manifests into murderous actions—"

"My father was completely healthy," I growled. "He didn't bottle up anything. He just loved to scare people. Care to explain how _he_ went crazy?"

Dr. Meyers was at a loss for words at that. Tony's head interrupted our argument, popping in the door. The sour expression on my face prevented him from saying anything.

"We're done here," I said firmly, keeping my eyes carefully away from Dr. Meyer's.

"Ahem, all right," said Tony, awkwardly. "Good. You're doctor wants to look you over anyway."

He stepped into the room, a doctor following in after him. He nodded to Dr. Meyers.

"I can walk you out," he offered, holding out a hand to escort her to her feet. She huffed angrily and stormed to her feet, stomping out of the room. The weird thing was that Tony didn't even give her a second glance as she left.

"Good afternoon, Riley," said the doctor kindly as she went about her business of fixing me up.

I gave a stoic nod in greeting, immediately resuming my staring at the bedpost. I could feel Tony's worried eyes on me throughout the entirety of my checkup.

"All right," the doctor concluded, removing the sling from my arm, "the road rash on your arm and forehead will heal up very nicely in a few weeks' time. You'll need to come back in two weeks to get those stitches in your neck removed. Other than that, you're fine. Your test results came back well; no internal bleeding or anything. You're free to go home at any time." She scribbled down something on a square sheet of paper and signed it. "Ibuprofen should do the trick for the pain. Put some antibiotic ointment on the wounds three times a day and wrap with gauze after each application. You're free to leave at any time."

She gave a smile as she ducked out of the room before I could even thank her. How impersonal.

Tony and I stared at each other for a few moments in silence.

"We can head out whenever you're ready," he said quietly. "You're officially mine now—"

"Am I the right pedigree?" I asked, the corner of my mouth quirking up just a little.

Tony cracked a grin at that, rolling his eyes. He took a few steps towards my bed and tossed a small bag on my lap.

"I kind of broke into your house," he admitted, "but here are some clothes."

Again, I did not understand this man. He was so nice one second, then teasing me the next. Was he thirty two or an eight year old with a crush?

"Um…thanks," I answered shyly.

"We can go whenever you're ready," he said. "I'll wait outside while you change."

I nodded gingerly, taking care not to bother the stitches too much. Tony abruptly spun on his heel and sauntered out of the room, looking fully uncomfortable as he went. He's probably regretting his decision to take me in now that he's had a chance to sleep on it.

Great.

As carefully as I could without irritating any of my injuries too much, I got to my feet and peeled off the hospital gown. I gratefully traded it for jeans and a t-shirt and pulled my torn up shoes on delicately. I almost (key word being "almost") laughed when I thought about Tony picking out clothes for me. He couldn't know what I generally liked to wear and yet he got it right on the nose, right down to my favorite pair of jeans.

Then the guilt and sadness of my mother's death slapped me in the face again. I went to the door, red-eyed and sniffling, and let myself out. Tony was in the hall, conversing with a nurse and another tall, dark haired man.

"Bruce?" I inquired.

His strong face turned towards me and broke out into a sympathetic smile. Bruce Wayne opened his arms for a hug.

"Hey Riley," he said.

"Hey," I said quietly, flicking my eyes to Tony's face. Did he call Bruce? It would almost make sense. Bruce had always been more family to me than Tony ever had.

But Tony and Bruce always had a certain level of animosity sitting like a shield between them. Tony's face was clearly representing that currently. He looked very sour that Bruce was even here.

I gave Bruce a half of a hug, knowing that if I gave him a real hug I would just break down crying and I couldn't afford to that. Bruce would understand.

"I was just telling Tony that he should let you stay with me for the rest of the school year," said Bruce, releasing me and looking down sadly at me. His eyes were screaming with pity, trying to tell me that he could identify with my pain.

I know he could.

So could Tony.

I gave a short-lived smile.

"Don't tell me that," I told him. "I've already resigned myself to leaving."

Bruce didn't smile at that. I knew he didn't like Tony having the responsibility of looking after me. He didn't trust Tony.

"I'll be all right, Bruce," I mumbled, trying to placate him. "Tony's going to get me a tutor and I'm going to college in the fall anyway, so I'll have to meet new people sometime."

"But like this?" asked Bruce. He looked genuinely worried about me.

"I'll be fine," I repeated. I sighed. "Tony'll take care of me. All I've got to worry about is packing—"

"And the funeral," said Tony quietly. He didn't look at me as he spoke. "I've had Hogan already pack your stuff. I assumed you wouldn't really want to go back into that house."

Surprise stopped me in my tracks for a moment as I blinked up at Tony. What a sweet, arrogant, completely Tony thing to do; assume that I didn't want to see the house I grew up in for the last time before leaving it, probably forever.

"If there's anything in particular that you want out of there, just let me know. I can put everything else in storage and have the house sold in a matter of days if you like," said Tony, staring down at his shoes now.

For half a minute, I had no idea what to say. The look on Bruce's face summed up what I probably should have felt; anger and resentment. But I was oddly relieved. I didn't have to go back to the house my mother raised me in. I didn't have to look at all of her stuff or think about how I caused her death. I could just take my clothes and go.

"Thanks," I stuttered out. "I don't think I want to sell the house just yet. Just in case. As for the funeral—"

"Pepper's working on it," Tony replied. "You don't have to do anything other than show up."

I blinked a few times trying to comprehend what Tony had just said.

"Who are you and what have you done with my Tony?" I asked quietly, quirking a small smile. "What's with the sweet treatment?"

Tony didn't answer, just gave a one shouldered shrug and smirked smugly to himself. Of course Bruce caught it, causing him to scowl even deeper.

I had to wonder for a second if Tony actually cared or if he was just trying to smite Bruce.

On the car ride to Tony's hotel, my cousin glanced at me and gave a real smile.

"You were always my favorite cousin, you know."

I snapped around to look at him, instantly regretting the action as the stitches in my neck pulled painfully.

"You were so fun to tease. You always reacted; always shot something back at me."

I blinked wearily at him, attempting to make sense of this one-sided conversation.

"You always made me laugh."

"Did I?" I asked. "And here I thought you just hated me."

"For a while I did," Tony admitted softly. His smile was gone as suddenly as it had come. "Mostly I was jealous."

I twisted my head to the side in curiosity.

"You were smart," he went on, "smart enough to skip a grade, but you always had friends roughly your age. I was fifteen when I started college. No one liked being shown up by a teenager. I didn't have much of a fan base in those days."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, hoping it wasn't just to make me feel bad for him.

Tony shrugged, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping at his chest.

"You don't know what you've got until it's gone. Or almost, anyway."

**Wait, Tony actually likes Riley?! She's completely confused now, I bet.**


	4. Chapter 4

The funeral was put together in six days flat, an amazing feat in Gotham City where hardly anything of importance gets done. I had to appreciate Pepper's work ethic.

The ceremony was beautiful, too. White lilies covered everything with a hint of sweet pea flowers and pink carnations spread about. The casket was closed and I didn't even want to begin to imagine what was beneath the top. A white altar stood behind the casket where the priest got up to say Mass.

As beautiful as everything was, I could barely bring myself to even lift my head to look around. I tried so hard not to cry, to keep my guilt and anger in check, but with the first of the consolations came the tears. It felt as if the entire world was smashing down on my shoulders, pressuring me to break, to give in to the temptation to join my mother.

But I couldn't do that. I had to tough it out.

Tony and Pepper flanked me through the entire ceremony, occasionally handing me a handkerchief to wipe my eyes on or, in Pepper's case, squeezing my hand reassuringly. Bruce stood behind me with his butler and good family friend Alfred.

"It wasn't your fault," Tony hissed in my ear as the ceremony came to an end and the pole bearers moved forward to carry the casket to the hearse. Bruce had volunteered himself to participate.

I choked on a sob and shook my head.

"The last thing I said to her was that she was suffocating me and holding me back from having any fun," I hiccupped. "She looked at me. If she hadn't looked at me she would have seen the light. That should be me! The car hit my side! She should be here, not me!"

I dissolved into tears by the time my little tirade had ended and for the first time in I couldn't even tell you how long, Tony pulled me into a hug.

"Looks like we have something else in common then." His voice was muffled by my hair, but his words only made me cry harder.

Tony held me still for a good few minutes longer, rubbing my back in an attempt to calm me enough to get me out to the hearse as well. I had to ride with the casket and that was quite possibly the very last thing I ever wanted to do in my life.

But I managed to convince myself to climb into the passenger seat anyway with promises from Tony that he would be in the car right behind us and everything would be all right.

Naively, I believed him.

We were about half way to the cemetery when it happened. A car in the procession exploded. Mad panic from nearly everyone was not far behind the blast; everyone except the hearse driver. The driver merely gave me a twisted grin and took a sharp left down Kinsley Ave.

I opened my mouth to scream, but a solid, cold object settled itself up to my temple and voice from behind me hissed,

"There ain't no reason ta scream. You can laugh if ya'd like. But no screamin'."

A red and black figure emerged from the back of the hearse and wedged herself between the driver and me to sit backwards on the center console, grinning. She held the gun against my head and stared me down beneath her black mask.

"Riley Stark presumably," she said, reclining back.

Too frightened to say no, I nodded.

"Good," said the clown woman. She turned to the driver. "Could ya hurry it up? We have a deadline ta meet!"

She kicked out her legs and giggled with mirth that her mission had been a success. She kept the gun pressed to my temple, which was a waste of energy to me. I was too scared to try to move regardless. I wondered idly if Tony and Pepper were okay.

We took another sharp left, heading down to the docks. My heart hammered in my chest and my fingers shook with adrenaline. The fight or flight instinct was kicking in.

* * *

Tony cursed vehemently as he slammed his car door shut. It had only taken him a second to realize the hearse was gone, taking Riley with it. The blast had only been a diversion.

"Where'd the hearse go?" demanded Bruce, rushing to Tony's side.

Tony gave a helpless shrug, glancing over his shoulder at the wrecked car behind them. Riley's neighbors had been in that car.

"Wayne, what the hell just happened?"

The Gotham Police Commissioner jogged up to the pair of them, frowning up at Bruce.

"I don't know, Jim," Bruce admitted. "The Guthrie's car just went up into the flames."

"The hearse is gone," muttered Tony. "Whoever it was took Riley."

"Why?" asked Bruce incredulously.

"Why do geese fly?" Tony snapped, rounding on him. "I don't know! The point is that she's gone! We need to find her and fast. She's not fully stable and she's still hurt."

"We'll find her, Stark," said Bruce calmly. "Don't panic. We have one of the best detectives in the world right here in Gotham."

Tony didn't miss the secretive glace Bruce shot Commissioner Gordon.

"We'll find her," Gordon repeated, trying to be reassuring.

Tony gave a short nod and turned to Pepper.

"Reschedule everything for the next two weeks," he instructed. "I'm not leaving Gotham without her."

* * *

Ow.

The zip-ties holding my wrists together bit into my skin again, rubbing the area raw and ripping open both old and new wounds. My ankles were bound to the legs of the chair with their own zip-ties.

I hated being immobile.

Rats surrounded my chair, squeaking and brushing up against me constantly. Horrible techno music blared all around me.

Two blue eyes popped up out of nowhere, shocking me to all hell. The maniacal grin came into view next and she pulled on my hair, forcing my head back. She covered my eyes with a scarf and the sensation of water running over my face felt good at first. The room was so stuffy and hot.

Until sitting with my head back and arms tied prevented me from wiping the water away. It got into my nose and mouth, choking me and making me sputter. I coughed and cried out.

Harley Quinn, as I later learned what the clown's name was, cackled as I cried. I thrashed around, trying to get away from the water, trying to spit it out and breathe.

No such luck.

Harley giggled and disappeared from the room as quickly as she had come, leaving me blindfolded and sopping wet, crying.

* * *

By the end of the first week, Tony could understand how his mother felt when he'd ran away the summer before entering high school. He was beside himself with worry for Riley. Where had she been taken? Was she alive? Was she hurt?

"Tony," Pepper muttered calmly, watching him eye his suitcase warily. He was pacing the hotel room, running his hands through his hair every so often and quite obviously itching to don his Iron Man suit to go find his cousin. "He'll find her."

"I don't trust this Batman guy," Tony hissed, stopping to lean up against the doorway to the bathroom. He pouted. "And I don't trust Bruce."

"Riley does," Pepper reminded him. "He's doing what he can—"

"I should be helping!" Tony shouted, pushing away from the wall. "I should be out there looking for her, not on house arrest from the Gotham City PD in a hotel. This has to be her Afghanistan, Pep—"

"Your lack of confidence and self-control astounds me, Stark," sneered the dark figure at the window.

Both Tony and Pepper whipped around, Pepper giving off a frightened squeak. Batman stood in the open French door balcony, casually leaning against the frame.

"Shouldn't you be on a man-hunt right about now?" demanded Tony, glaring at the masked man.

Batman gave a quick downcast look, allowing Tony to see him momentarily venerable.

"She hasn't given us any leads," he said. "Did you see which way they took off?"

Tony helplessly shrugged, looking rather distraught.

"It was the damn car bombing," he muttered. "It got everyone's attention. She could be halfway to Bermuda by now."

"I hardly think they had the time for that," Batman replied. "And I'm pretty sure Riley would attract too much attention being led around and airport bound by the ankles and screaming."

"Who said they went to the airport?" demanded Tony. He had taken a few steps toward Batman and was now right up against the hulking man. "A lot of people own their own jets."

"People like you and me," Batman spat back. "This wasn't someone like us—"

"Us?" Tony asked. His emotions were catching up to him and his voice cracked just a bit. "Who are you, Batsy?"

Tony noticed Batman give a visible grimace and turn away.

"You talk like you know Riley," he pressed on. "You talk like you're one of us, whoever "us" is. You think you can run this whole show on your own—"

"Iron Man's presence would only irritate the situation more," Batman cut in, obviously grateful for the chance to divert the attention from himself.

Tony wasn't fooled.

"Good!" he growled. "They need to be pressured! Whoever is behind this needs to know we'll stop at nothing to—"

"They may do something drastic," snapped Batman. "This isn't like dealing with a colleague gone bad. The criminals in this city are almost all in some state of psychosis or another. Adding someone new could create a really unstable environment for Riles—"

Then it clicked in Tony's head, just who Batman was. He had been the first person Tony ever heard call Riley "Riles".

"Bruce?"

**Harley isn't being very nice. ( Poor Riley. Will they find her?**


	5. Chapter 5

"What scares ya', Riley?" asked a peppy Harley Quinn as she skipped into my holding cell (I refused to refer it anything but that). Her malicious grin spread across her face did not allude to real happiness in her eyes.

I said nothing, partially due to the lack of moisture in my mouth. I hadn't been put through Harley's water torture in hours (days?) and that had been my only form of beverage in this hellhole. Needless to say, I was a bit parched.

And I said nothing partially due to the fact that I was never going to tell Harley my worst fear. She would use it against me. I was better prepared for pain than I was the emotional trauma of seeing another scarecrow. My dad used to scare me with them all around the house when I was a kid.

Harley didn't like my silence. She landed a hard blow to my jaw. The taste of copper filled my mouth.

"I asked, what scares ya', Riley?" she repeated with more force.

I spat blood to the left, away from Harley. I had to have a few loose teeth by now. Slowly, I brought my head back up to stare the clown down.

"Answer the question!" she shrieked at my silence. She kicked at my shin in anger.

The pain in my shin and jaw I could handle. It was what she did next when I kept my silence that almost made me spill.

White hot pain spread across my right arm. Harley had long since removed my bandages from the accident and was now running her sharp nails down the road rash on my arm, tearing open the already scarred flesh. I couldn't feel the blood trickling down my skin until after she removed her nails. The pain had come and gone so quickly that it was almost as if it hadn't even been there, replaced by numbness immediately.

I breathed hard as a cackling Harley headed for the door. Her laugh had a sour twinge to it.

I glanced wearily up at her retreating figure. To this day, I wouldn't be able to explain why I opened my big mouth.

"What scares _you_?" I asked her.

Her whole body froze in mid step.

I was sore all over when I woke up next. I couldn't tell for the life of me how much time had passed. There were no windows in my cell.

The techno was back, blasting through some unseen speaker system, but the rats were gone and I was completely alone to wallow in my misery.

For the moment anyway.

My throat tickled and I coughed hard to be rid of it, spitting out some blood in the process. My breathing was haggard and painful. I was covered in my own blood, barely dry; leaving me to believe it had only been a short amount of time since my last encounter with my captor.

I still couldn't figure out why it was me, of all people, stuck in this place. Granted, I wouldn't wish this punishment on my worst enemy, but I certainly didn't wish for it for myself either. I thought through all of the plausible reasons;

I didn't have any valuable information leading to the bat man.

No useful legal knowledge.

Did I have some sort of jewel she wanted? No. She'd already have asked about it. She's not that smart.

What was she so interested in my biggest fear for anyway?

Tears pricked at my eye lids as I hung my head pathetically. Another set of questions had popped into my head.

Why was I still here? Wasn't anyone looking for me? Where was Tony?

Didn't he care?

Of course he didn't. If I died here, he wouldn't have to deal with me. I wouldn't be his responsibility anymore. He'd be rid of me for forever.

Of course.

If my mother had been in his shoes, she wouldn't sleep until she found me. She wouldn't give up. But she was dead and it was my fault.

But didn't Tony know what it was like to be kidnapped? Shouldn't he understand?

Shouldn't he feel obligated on that alone, at least, to find me?

I wasn't a fighter. I couldn't survive this like he could.

My heart skipped a beat as a thought hit me. Tony was never much of a fighter either. Sure he took a couple of self defense classes to keep fit, but he preferred to talk his way out of things. He wasn't a fighter.

He was a thinker.

And he got _himself_ out.

My brain immediately blocked out as much physical and emotional pain as it could and switched into thinking mode.

* * *

"None of these guys have a motive," said Pepper worriedly from her laptop. She sat with Tony and Bruce in their hotel room brainstorming for possibilities on the mastermind. "That's what scares me. Most of these guys don't have a motive. There's no reason for them to go after Riley."

"I can think of just one," muttered Bruce, sharing a glance with Tony.

"He got out?" Tony demanded, shooting up from his position on his bed.

Pepper looked quite a bit taken aback.

"Who got out?"

Neither man heard her. They were too busy staring each other down.

"Arkham is not the most secure place in the world," said Bruce.

"Could be a hell of a lot better," Tony growled. "I swear to you if he has her—"

"I'll do another round," Bruce cut in before he could get descriptive. Pepper didn't need to hear what sort of violence her boss would resort to. "Round up Scarecrow and the Joker. My money's on one of those two."

Tony snorted cynically, lowering himself back on to his bed, and steepled his hands in front of him. Bruce was forever fascinated by the Joker, constantly thinking about him. If he had to guess, Tony was prepared to bet his entire fortune on Scarecrow.

He was her father, after all.

"Call me if you find anything. I want to be there."

* * *

The cold, crisp wintery air slapped me in the face as I was pulled out on to the fishing pier. It was the middle of the night so no fishermen were out to save me.

My thinking session had been cut short by the early return of Harley's "Puddin'".

Oh boy was he surprised to see me.

I don't think the word "surprised" even begins to cover it. He heard the blaring techno that prevented me from sleeping for god only knows how long, came to investigate, then immediately returned in fury to Harley.

I only had a chance to get a quick glimpse at him, but I knew exactly who he was and I knew I was really in trouble now. He wore a purple coat over a green vest. His hair was tinted green, as if he didn't wash it after getting out of a heavily chlorinated pool.

His face was the most grotesque thing. His features were caked in white grease paint, his eyes circled in black. But it was his mouth that sent shivers down my spine. It was as if someone had taken a paintbrush dipped in red paint and made one long stroke across his mouth.

Only the sides of his mouth were scarred from being sliced into a smile.

The Joker didn't like to be serious.

**No he doesn't. What will happen now?**


	6. Chapter 6

"Please, Mistah J!" Harley sobbed as she dangled over the snow caked dock and Gotham River with her arms bound behind her back. "I thought she really was your girl! I didn't know—"

"Harley," said Joker very calmly. His tongue flicked out to touch a scar briefly in a nervous gesture. "I cannot afford to, eh, have two bats chasing me, let alone one with guns." Another flick of the tongue. "What you have done is bring two, ah, complications into my plans. I can't deal with a third."

"Please, Boss!" cried Harley. "I thought…I thought…"

"You thought _what_, Harl?" snarled the Joker. He ran his tongue quickly across his bottom lip this time.

"Ya see, Mistah J," started Harley, sniffling, "Red told me ya'd gotten into a jam some years ago with some broad. She wanted ya ta pay her. Red said the lady had your kid."

It didn't even take the Joker half a second for that to sink in before he broke out into hysterics. He had to lean against his counterpart for support as he laughed.

His counterpart, the tall and lean Scarecrow, stared me down as if he were daring me to go into my own fit of screaming as I had the second he walked into my line of sight.

* * *

"Stark, get your suit on and get down to the docks. I hear something."

Tony smirked mirthlessly to himself as he cut the call from Bruce. He had been in his suit since the Batman had left, ready to go at a moments' notice.

"Duty calls," was all he said to Pepper and he was out the window in a supersonic flash.

He was sure he left behind one hell of a mess.

Iron Man made it to the docks, a trip which had taken Batman half an hour, in five minutes flat and spotted the dark figure lurking in a nearby alleyway, waiting for the scene to escalate.

Tony opted for a more direct approached.

"I hear the Alaskan King Crab is good this time of year."

Five sets of eyes all spun to him and all his robotic glory.

* * *

What in the hell was that? The glints of red and gold were dancing in front of my tired eyes, but I was having a hard enough time standing, let alone attempting to figure out what that thing was that just spoke.

"But I don't think a clown is the best bait for them."

"Who are you?" demanded the Joker, wiping out a knife lightning fast and taking a quick step forward.

Iron Man put a bullet through the knife and it fell to the ground with a smoking hole through the blade.

No one was laughing at that.

Another quick move and Joker suddenly had a small vile of liquid and my throat in his hands.

"I know you want her," he hissed. A giggle escaped, betraying how much he was actually enjoying the challenge. "Go get her."

In the flash of a second, I had a bundle of gas shot into my face and my entire body shoved off the side of the pier. The icy coldness of the water stabbed at my exposed skin like needles and the salt burned my wounds. With my hands tied behind my back, there was no escape.

Not alone anyway.

A second figure jumped in the water after me; I heard the splash. I was sinking fast, trying to use my tired legs to kick myself up. A hand wrapped around my right arm, rubbing Kevlar up against my open wounds. I winced in pain and opened my mouth to cry out, sucking in a lung full of water in the process. I coughed underwater, which only made the issue worse.

Breaking the surface did not feel good for me. If I said the water was cold, getting into the snow soaking wet was worse. I had never felt more afraid of hypothermia than I had at that point, wanting nothing more than to curl back up in my holding cell with the rats. At least it was warm.

I was tossed out onto the dock, knocking the water as well as some air out of my lungs and forcing me into a coughing fit. The zip-tie around my wrists was cut and the blood flowing back into my hands made me dizzy. With the lack of air and blood, my vision darkened almost completely.

I felt someone lift me into their arms and opened my eyes blearily. Dark eyes stared back happily.

"Tony?" I whispered, coughing and feeling like I was in a bad soap opera.

Tony grinned with relief.

"I got you, kiddo," he said. And, if I thought I couldn't be surprised any more, he surprised the living hell out of me.

He kissed the top of my head, the face mask of his pushed back helmet knocking into the back of my head.

"I'm gonna take you to the hospital now, how's that sound?" he asked gently.

I gave a feeble nod.

"All right," said Tony. He shifted my weight in his arms. "Hold on tight."

His helmet closed around his face.

I got as good a grip as I could before Tony started up his boot thrusters and rose into the air. He held me close with one arm, using the other to keep us stabilized. The red and blue flashing lights below only made my vision swim more.

I honestly slept for three days straight, getting up long enough to use the restroom and eat twice a day. I only answered the questions asked directly to me, nothing more. I didn't want to even think about what had happened.

I awoke on the third day to a brightly light room covered in balloons and flowers and cards from my school friends and very far extended family who remembered who I was. I felt much better rested than I had in the past three weeks since my mother's death.

The cops were able to recover Mom's body and give her a proper burial. Tony attended in my place as I was still fast asleep in my little hospital bed. Some say my dad even showed up, but Tony wouldn't give me details.

Bruce stopped by every now and then to give his best wishes and, on his last visit before my discharge, to say a very heartfelt goodbye. I promised to keep in touch with him, even if he and Tony did hate each other.

By the end of it all, I had managed to escape relatively unscathed in the physical sense; a broken jaw, lacerations to my arm and face, fluid in my lungs. Mentally and emotionally, I would probably take a much longer time to heal.

And Tony understood. He didn't press for details. He listened to my silence after my nightmares and offered a comforting shoulder to cry on if I needed it.

I was determined not to need it.

The doctor cleared me for commercial airplane travel three weeks later and Tony, Pepper, and I were finally on our way out to California. I was finally off to my new home.

I always hated planes.

"So I'm curious about just one thing," said Tony as we relaxed on his private jet. "Why you?"

It was the only question that hadn't been asked yet, and it was the only one that was simple enough to answer.

I shrugged painfully, shifting in my vintage/designer/whatever seat to find a more comfortable sleeping position. Tony leaned over and pushed the recline button.

"Thanks," I grunted. I settle into the seat and looked at him very seriously. "Apparently I was some sort of lovechild of the Joker's with some woman years ago that Red – whoever the hell that is – told Harley about."

Tony blinked slowly a total of three times before bursting into a fit of deep laughter; not at all like Joker's or Harley's hollow cackle.

It was comforting.

"Too bad she didn't think to look just a few feet to her left," he said. "Then she'd get the right answer."

Scarecrow. I'd forgotten the alias my father had taken on once he escaped Arkham.

"Good night," I muttered, trying to restrain the grin quickly spreading on my face.

Tony didn't miss it. I hadn't smiled in weeks.

"Sleep tight, kiddo," he smirked back.

I began catching up on some lost sleep.

**-THE END-**

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